The Princess and the Pea

by Victoria Alexander

  Henry had a knack for beef and business. By the time Cece was born the Whites were quite prosperous. By the time she hit twelve he was proclaimed king of the meatpacking industry.

  Perhaps it was his success that triggered the “unfortunate incident.” Perhaps it was merely the realization that there would be no son to carry on the family business. Or perhaps it was simply his charming wife’s penchant for spending his hard-earned money freely and without a second thought as to where it came from, and the same inclination he saw developing in his daughters.

  With the declaration that “at least one of his children should damn well know where the money to support this family comes from,” Cece was whisked from the eminently civilized world of Chicago to the last two months of a Wyoming cattle drive.

  And she had loved it.

  Her days were spent on horse back with men who were rough and rowdy, kind and funny. Men who tried to watch their salty language around her and failed. Men who looked on her less as the big boss’s daughter and more as a little sister. Cowboys.

  Her favorite was an old, gnarled gnome of a man: Fork Tongue Frank. Frank O’Malley ruled the chuck wagon with a wooden spoon in one hand and a barely hidden bottle of whiskey in the other. In spite of his short stature, the little Irishman was bigger than life and absolutely fascinating. His tongue indeed was forked a little. O’Malley claimed it was the legacy of his great-grandpa who was part rattler. Other cowboys said he’d actually fallen in a drunken stupor and slit the end of his tongue on a broken bottle, and that it just grew back that way. But Cece liked O’Malley’s version best.

  She hung around his wagon with a tenacity that he rewarded by spinning tales that mixed Emerald Isle leprechauns with frontier natives. He even took her into his confidence and shared some of his culinary secrets.

  “If ya drop somethin’ on the ground, wipe it off fore ya throw it back in the pot.” Fork Tongue’s gravelly voice still rang in her mind, as if he’d spouted his wisdom just yesterday. “Men don’t mind a bit a grit, long as the vittles is nice and tasty.

  “And remember, girl, nothin’ fills the empty spot in a man’s belly like beans. And a splash of this—” he held up his bottle with a twinkle in his eye—“makes even the worst food this side of kingdom come and back again mighty tasty.”

  Fork Tongue showed her how to bake corn bread over an open fire, and even the cook in the grand house in Chicago had, through the years, occasionally allowed Cece into her sanctuary for a blissful afternoon of baking corn bread and reliving memories.

  The last day of the drive, right before the crew headed the cattle to the railroad in Cheyenne for the trip to Chicago, the cowboys marked the end of the long, arduous trail. She suspected now that the celebration had been more for the benefit of a twelve-year-old girl than anything else. With the wisdom of age, she had no doubt the real celebrating came after the cowboys had their pay firmly in hand and could take advantage of the saloon and what ever other forms of entertainment the cattle town had to offer.

  But on that final day, under Frank’s watchful eye, the men dug a pit, lit a huge fire that burned to slow, smoldering embers and patiently roasted a carcass. It took all day and was without a doubt the most delicious thing Cece had ever tasted.

  Beef cooked over an open fire. Corn bread. A rather meager offering of culinary expertise. Still…

  She narrowed her eyes and surveyed the trio of maids. If nothing else, they were eager and willing. “Willomena, what’s the best dessert you can prepare? Your specialty, as it were?”

  Willomena drew herself up with pride. “That would be trifle, miss. I make a trifle better than any one.”

  “Makes you think you’d died and gone to ’eaven,” Mary said.

  “Knocks your socks right off your feet, it does,” Ellen added enthusiastically.

  “It sounds perfect.” Cece grinned. “Ellen, do you know how to bake corn bread?”

  “I can bake anything, miss,” Ellen said modestly.

  “She knows her bread, all right,” Willomena said.

  “And a tasty job she does too,” Mary chimed in.

  “Never made corn bread, though.” Ellen frowned, then brightened. “But if you can give me some ’elp as to the basics…”

  “Basics, Ellen, are about all I can give you,” Cece said wryly. “Now, ladies, with your able assistance I think we can pull off this evening.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and smiled slowly.

  “I have an interesting idea.”

  “What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?” Jared stopped dead in his tracks beside Lady Millicent at the top of the short flight of stone steps leading from the castle terrace to the formal gardens.

  “It is quite impressive, isn’t it?” Lady Millicent murmured, slanting him a sidelong glance to gauge his reaction. She was not disappointed.

  “Impressive…and altogether unexpected.” He stared, appreciation and astonishment rampant on his handsome face.

  From their vantage point on the steps, the gardens and surrounding lawns were laid out like a carpet at their feet. Guests invited to Lady Olivia’s gathering meandered amid roses and hedges and blossoms of all kind. Violinists strolled among ladies and gentlemen who greeted one another and chatted amicably like the old friends and neighbors most of them were.

  On the lawns edging each side of the formal beds, rows of tables set with white linen and the castle’s best silver and crystal glittered in the deepening twilight. Tapers twinkled from multi-armed candelabra and competed for attention with the gardener’s best blooms, overflowing urns and vases in a lush display of light and beauty. Everywhere his gaze fell, lanterns winked from perches on trees and fountains and nooks and crannies he’d never imagined existed, competing for attention with the very stars in the heavens.

  “Impressive may not do it justice.” Jared offered Millicent his arm, and the couple proceeded down the steps.

  Millicent nodded her approval. “It does look like something from a fairy tale.”

  “Doesn’t it though. By jove, I didn’t know Mother had it in her. Something this—” he gestured to the fantasy setting before them “—fresh. Creative. Original. I’ll say this for her: It may take her a few years, but when she decides to finally rejoin society and entertain once again, she certainly does it up right.”

  “Jared…” Millicent stopped on the bottom riser and frowned at him reproachfully. “This is not your mother’s doing.”

  “It’s not?” Confusion colored his words. “Then who…?”

  “Cece did it.”

  His puzzled expression deepened. “What on earth do you mean ‘Cece did it’?”

  Millicent considered him for a long, thoughtful moment. “You really have no idea at all, do you?” He shook his head and she took his arm in the same manner she’d use to gently break news of a calamity to an unsuspecting innocent.

  “My dear boy….” She steered him away from the growing throng of guests to a bench secluded somewhat from direct view and settled herself as comfortably as possible. “It is my understanding—and mind you, Phoebe, Emily and I were at my home most of the day—that this entire affair was dropped in Cece’s hands at the last possible minute. Or this morning, at any rate, which is the last moment if one is planning an event quite as extensive as this one.” Millicent swept her hand dramatically in the direction of the partygoers. “Why, just look at how many people are in attendance.”

  “It does appear she invited half the village,” Jared said dryly, a suspicious glint in his blue eyes. “Please continue.”

  “When we arrived here—quite late too, I might add—Cece already had everything under control.” Millicent raised her head and sniffed delicately. “Do you smell that?”

  Jared dutifully inhaled and widened his eyes in appreciation. “I hadn’t noticed it before now, but there is a most delicious aroma in the air. Beef perhaps?”

  “Of course it’s beef,” Millicent said indignantly. “Beef is practi
cally in her blood. I understand she sent to the village butcher for every joint of beef they had available, and a fair number of chickens as well. Then she had—I believe it was stable boys, but it might have been footmen or even undergardeners—”

  “Had them what?” Impatience rang in Jared’s voice.

  “I am getting to that, Jared,” Millicent huffed, “all in good time. Now, where was I…”

  “Something about stable boys or footmen and beef joints?” Jared said encouragingly.

  “If you would stop interrupting, I would be more than happy to conclude. As I was saying…” She shot him a sharp glare to stifle any interference on his part. He stared expectantly and, mollified, she continued. “At any rate, Cece instructed servants to dig a pit and roast the meat over the fire. It’s been cooking all day. Beyond that, she has directed a number of other dishes for to night’s gathering.”

  Millicent leaned forward, her voice low and private. “I understand the cook was ill.”

  Jared drew his brows together in a puzzled frown. “How extremely odd. Cook is never ill.”

  “That’s not all I’ve heard,” Millicent said smugly. “Do you see that man over there playing the fiddle?” Jared glanced in the direction she indicated. “And that one near the arbor?” Again Jared’s gaze followed her lead. “Do they look at all familiar?”

  Jared perused the men briefly and sat up straighter in recognition. “Good God! They’re members of the castle staff. Why on earth does Cece have servants entertaining?”

  “The musicians who were supposed to play to night apparently died in some horrible drunken brawl. At least that’s the story I heard. What ever.” She waved airily, as if the gesture brushed away any bothersome details. “The point here is that Cece was bright enough to commandeer staff as musicians, come up with a meal for—how many people do you think are here?”

  “Quite a few,” Jared said wryly.

  “Provide sustenance for a significant number of people, decorate the grounds—I thought moving the whole soiree outdoors was a nice touch, don’t you?”

  “Very nice.” Jared surveyed the scene thoughtfully. “What you have not yet explained is how this all ended up in Cece’s lap.”

  “Haven’t I?” Millicent frowned. “I did think I explained that part straightaway. Phoebe, Emily and I were at my estate all day, planning her coming out. It is next week, you know? The only ones who could have possibly assisted her at all were that twit, Sofia, and that tart, Linnea DeToulane. They were God knows where, not that they would be of any help in a crisis anyway….”

  “My mother?” His dark eyes flashed, but his words were quiet, controlled…ominous. “Where was my mother through all this?”

  “Olivia,” Millicent said, her tone innocent, her gaze assessing, “was confined to bed with a sick headache.”

  “My mother spent the day in bed?” Disbelief underlaid his words.

  “That’s what I heard. Of course, a great deal of my information comes from my maid, who got it from castle servants.” Millicent smiled sweetly and laid one gloved hand on his arm. “I wouldn’t worry too much, dear boy; I believe Olivia is quite recovered now. I saw her only a few minutes ago and she appeared the picture of health.”

  “Bloody hell.” Anger flared on his face. “She did this deliberately, no doubt. Another one of her tests.”

  “Tests?” Millicent probed gently. She didn’t want to push the boy too much, but curiosity gnawed at her like a hound with a bone.

  “She’s submitted every woman I’ve so much as looked at in the last few months to examinations devised by her Machiavellian mind.” Jared clenched his jaw in an obvious effort to control his outrage. My, when angered the boy certainly was deliciously handsome in a wonderfully menacing sort of way. “I warned her it would have to stop.”

  “I see,” Millicent murmured. All at once, Olivia’s actions made sense. Millicent was unaware of Olivia’s tests of previous bridal candidates. Obviously, none of those had come anywhere near acceptance. Cece, on the other hand, was closing in quickly on the matrimonial prize that included Jared, his title and all that went with it. “That explains quite a lot.”

  Jared barely acknowledged her presence, apparently speaking more to himself than to her. “She will not get away with it this time.”

  “You must give your mother some credit, Jared,” Millicent chided. “This evening was a difficult trial. And Cece has carried it off with wit and charm. Olivia can have few complaints. I would say, if indeed this was a test, Cece has passed with honors.”

  Jared nodded, his angry expression fading to one of newfound pride. “She has done a damn fine job.” He grinned abruptly. “She’ll make an excellent countess, don’t you think?”

  Millicent beamed. “I do indeed. Now run along and find your future countess and tell her what you think.”

  Jared turned to go, but Millicent called him back. “And Jared, I would wait to talk to your mother.” Millicent shrugged. “Why on earth spoil such a lovely evening?”

  Millicent watched the boy hurry off. His mother was one of her oldest friends, but she’d wager Olivia had met her match this time. It was obvious to anyone with half a mind that Jared was already in love with Cece, and she no doubt returned his affection.

  In this battle of wits she’d have to put her money, and her encouragement, behind the Americans. Still, Olivia never was one to give up easily. Millicent was hard pressed to remember when, if ever, her friend had lost any kind of skirmish. Millicent vowed to follow the progress of this contest closely. It promised the best entertainment she’d had in years.

  She grinned wickedly.

  It was indeed a lovely evening.

  “…and I can’t thank you all enough for your tremendous efforts today.” Cece stood in the midst of a brief lull of activity in the kitchen and beamed at her trio of helpers, flanked by assorted other members of the castle staff. “It was quite in the cooperative spirit of the Wild West. Americans could not have done it better.”

  Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the ranks like waves on the shore. The three kitchen maids blushed with plea sure.

  “We couldn’t ’ave down it without you, miss,” Mary said.

  Ellen nodded. “You were our inspiration.”

  “A virtual guidin’ spirit as it were, miss,” Willomena added.

  “Thank you.” Cece nodded her gratitude and heaved a sigh of relief. “It does appear we shall pull this off, although,” she cast them an impish grin, “I doubt any of these guests have ever partaken of chuck-wagon fare.”

  “Then they’re all in for a treat I’d say,” Willomena said staunchly.

  “Somethin’ they’ll not soon be forgettin’, I’d wager.” Ellen grinned.

  “And not be gettin’ again anytime soon neither,” Mary said smugly. She leaned toward Cece and spoke under her breath. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but in the stories they call it grub.”

  “Of course.” Cece smiled apologetically. “Silly of me to forget. You’re absolutely right. To night, in the heart of Britain, we serve chuck-wagon grub. It should be quite delightful.”

  “There’s more than one appetizing item on the menu to night.” Jared stood in the entry to the kitchen, the landing a few stair steps above the main floor. Arms folded across his chest, he leaned lazily against the stone archway.

  Cece tossed him an easy smile, then cast a quick glance at the assembled servants, who stared at Jared as if they’d never seen the earl before. No doubt they never had in the kitchen. This was their domain, less than a few steps away physically, but it might well have been a million miles away from Jared’s world. With a subtle nod, she sent her troops back to their respective stations and they scurried like tumbleweeds in a desert wind.

  She plucked her gloves off the table and stepped toward him. “I’m so glad you’ve seen something that meets with your approval.”

  “Everything meets with my approval.” His voice rang low and seductive, a vivid reminder of this mornin
g’s passionate kiss. His tone shivered up her spine and through her blood. Hunger that had little to do with the evening’s meal simmered in his eyes. “You look exquisite.”

  “Thank you.” She favored him with a serene smile designed to hide her relief. Cece had spent far less time than usual at her toilet to night. Between overseeing the meal, arranging the flowers, directing the staff and a haphazard roundup of anyone on the estate who had ever touched a musical instrument, there was scarcely a moment left to see to her own needs.

  She’d decided to wear one of the new Worth gowns, less formal than the others; the striking lemon yellow creation complimented her dark hair and eyes. The admiration reflected in his eyes confirmed what the mirror had told her, and her confidence rose.

  He sauntered down the steps and offered his arm with a gallant flourish. “If you are quite through spinning your magic…” he raised a questioning brow. “You are finished, aren’t you?”

  She cast a last look around the kitchen. Even though there had not been entertaining of this magnitude at the castle for some years, the staff was trained well enough to overcome the myriad of problems created by the absence of a cook and any advance planning.

  “I just hope the magic holds throughout the evening and does not turn out to be a mere illusion.” She took his arm and accompanied him up the stairs. “I would so hate for everything to vanish with a snap of someone’s fingers.”

  “Judging by the enchanting scene outside and the savory aroma on the breeze, I suspect your efforts will definitely disappear…to the culinary satisfaction of all.”

  They stepped through a servant’s exit and into the balmy night. The candlelight flickered like captured fireflies. Ladies in frothy summer gowns bantered with gentlemen in elegant formal attire. The scent of roses flirted with the aroma of roasting beef to tease the senses with a tantalizing suggestion of sweet and savory.